


A Family Christmas

by Eienvine



Category: The Good Cop (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Connie's alive because it's an AU and I can do what I want, F/M, Hallmark Christmas Movie AU, The Good Cop Winter Fic Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 18:38:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16918197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eienvine/pseuds/Eienvine
Summary: Cora doesn't mind being assigned a case that takes her away from New York City on Christmas; she doesn't have much use for Christmas, having never had anyone to celebrate it with. But in the picturesque town of Campobello, as she meets small-town cop TJ and finds herself drawn into his family's Christmas celebrations, she starts to realize what she's been missing. For The Good Cop Winter Fic Challenge.





	A Family Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> For the Good Cop Winter Fic Challenge, prompt 3: small town guy, big city girl. Merry Christmas!

. . . . . .

Cora Vasquez doesn’t know whether to be more pleased or insulted that Captain Delghetty gives her an out-of-town assignment five days before Christmas. Pleased, because now she won’t have to spend Christmas alone in her apartment, surrounded by thoughts of how she’d thought this would be her and Warren’s first Christmas as a married couple—the first real Christmas she’d have ever had. Insulted, because she knows she was chosen not for her skills, but because she’s the only person in the department with no family.

“If you don’t mind,” the captain adds, because she’s nice like that. “It’s just, if we can tie Morningside to the robbery in Campobello, we have his motive for murdering his brother. And I don’t trust the esteemed Campobello Police Department to get us answers in time.” She hesitates. “I do feel bad making you leave town over Christmas, Vasquez.”

But Cora is quick to assure her. “I’ve never really been that into Christmas,” she recites: her usual response when people ask her about her Christmas plans. “Just seems like a lot of commercialism and sentimentality. But I hope the Campobello PD won’t be too busy celebrating Christmas to help me out.”

“Speaking of,” says the captain, “here’s your contact’s info.” She hands Cora a slip of paper with a telephone number—upstate New York area code—and a name: Detective TJ Caruso. The name Caruso tugs at the corner of her mind for a moment, but Delghetty is dismissing her and she’s too busy planning what to pack to think about it too hard.

The truth is, she’s excited about this assignment; she doesn’t get many chances to prove herself, but if she can do well on this solo investigation, maybe it’ll help her get promoted. Maybe she’ll start earning enough to move out of the tiny, grimy apartment she currently shares with five other girls (yes, she knows that’s illegal, don’t judge). Maybe she can move into a neighborhood where fewer cars get broken into.

Maybe, despite Warren’s cheating and her broken engagement, this is shaping up to be a Christmas to look forward to after all.

. . . . . .

Campobello is like something from a movie: a perfect little gingerbread village, coasted picturesquely in sparkling snow. Main Street is lit with Christmas lights and lined with every twee and charming little shop you can think of, with bakeries and candy shops and hat shops displaying their wares in massive front windows. Shoppers scurry through the gently falling snow with armfuls of bags. And at the top of Main Street, looking down at the Christmas festivities like a benevolent king surveying his kingdom, is the city offices building: a beautiful old structure of red brick and white columns, topped off with a clock tower crowned with a cupola.

It’s here, in the tiny first floor police department, that Cora meets her contact. TJ Caruso is about her age, with brown hair and dark eyes that look a little mournful when his face is relaxed but that squint into crescent moons when he laughs.

She also meets Captain Harkey, a pleasant middle-aged man who welcomes her warmly to Campobello and explains that TJ’s partner Roger Sendak is out sick, so she and Detective Caruso will be on their own. It’s a tiny department, with precisely one other pair of detectives, who are out investigating a robbery in a village a few miles away; Captain Harkey explains that their department covers about fifteen square miles and a dozen tiny towns and villages, for a total of 2300 citizens.

She is certainly not in New York City anymore.

TJ gives her the case file on the jewelry store robbery to read—she’s impressed at the thoroughness of his investigation and his notes—and then they head out into the brisk December day.

If Campobello is the quintessential small town, TJ Caruso is the quintessential small town detective; he wears a what looks like a hand-knit scarf, he seems to know the name of every single person they pass, and he actually uses the phrase “We just don’t have a lot of crimes around these parts.”

He’s good-looking, too, in his way, which Cora is carefully not noticing; it’s only been two months since she found Warren with that Evelyn woman and her carefully planned future fell apart around her, and she is in no hurry to get back into the dating scene. Especially not with a guy like TJ, who, it’s immediately clear, is the goody-two-shoes sort. Definitely not her type.

In addition to being a good-looking cop, he’s a good cop; that much is clear from the way he handles himself and their witnesses. But that doesn’t change the fact that they haven’t made much headway by the time the sun sets. That’s okay, though; Cora has more ideas for avenues to investigate tomorrow.

Cora is just getting ready to go find a hotel to check into when TJ gets off the phone with his mother Connie; apparently she learned from TJ about his out-of-town visitor and now she’s insisting that Cora come stay with her and TJ. And so it is that Cora finds herself in the most charming cabin at the end of a tree-lined road, decorated in a style Cora privately thinks of as “New England B&B shabby chic.” Her guest room is so beautiful that she’s afraid to move the throw pillows on the bed because she knows she’ll never get them situated so prettily again.

That night she eats a delicious home-cooked meal with the Carusos, and smiles at how warm and affectionate mother and son are with each other, and tries to not notice the pang in her heart when she thinks of how different her relationship with her stepfather was from the relationship she’s seeing in front of her eyes. She tries not to notice that this cozy home, with its bushy and beautiful live Christmas tree and its lights and garlands and tinsel strung from every surface, is exactly what she used to imagine for herself when she was young and lonely and still hoping that someday she’d have the sort of family she saw on TV—exactly the sort of home she’d hoped that she and Warren would create together.

So mostly she spends the evening forcing herself not to cross her arms over her chest, self-defensive and wistful and resentful at this reminder of everything she never had, and mutter “Bah humbug.” She doesn’t think her hosts would understand.

. . . . . .

“You’d have to talk to Bob Parker about the remodel project,” says their witness thoughtfully, scratching his chin. “He managed it.”

“Bob?” repeats TJ, looking defeated.

“Yeah, but he’s—”

“Out of town until the 26th,” TJ finishes, and thanks the old man for his time. “Now what?” he asks Cora as they step out into the brisk December air. “Bob’s at his family’s cabin up in Vermont: no way to reach him without driving up there. But to wait for him to come back—that’s four days from now.”

Cora thinks of Delghetty telling her to stay in Campobello until the burglary is solved, and she says, “I don’t mind waiting for him.”

TJ looks curiously at her. “But that means—don’t you have plans for Christmas?”

And now she can feel her face heating up. “I’m not really into Christmas much.”

“Not into Christmas,” TJ repeats, baffled, as though she’s just said she’s not into breathing.

“Just an excuse for companies to sell us more crap we don’t need,” she shrugs.

“But don’t you have people who’ll be expecting you?”

She looks away. “Nope, no one who’ll be . . . no one.”

TJ is quiet a long moment, but she can’t bring herself to look at him and see what he’s doing. Finally he says, “Well, if you plan to be in town over Christmas, get ready for Mom to insist you stay with us and fuss over you like crazy. She loves holidays, and she loves guests.”

And now she does look at him to see that his expression is warm, his eyes kind.

“You’re sure I wouldn’t be intruding on a family Christmas?”

“I know she’d be fine with it. The more the merrier. Especially when it’ll be just the two of us otherwise.”

There’s something a little stiff in his tone there at the end, and she’s coming to learn TJ’s moods enough to recognize that he’s holding some thought or statement back. She wonders if it’s got to do with the mysterious Mr. Caruso, TJ’s father. Neither mother nor son say much of the family patriarch, but Cora has gotten the sense that he’s not dead, just out of the picture. And she knows nothing else about him—other than that his name must be Anthony, for his son to be Anthony Jr.

But she doesn’t ask about Anthony Sr., not even to satisfy her curiosity. Because if she starts that, TJ might think it’s okay to ask about her family and past. And she’s really not interested in that happening. It’s just, when guys start asking about her past, they usually get scared off; she’s no Disney vacation. (Warren didn’t get scared off, but then Warren also stuck his tongue down some genealogist’s throat on the very sofa that Cora had purchased for their new life together. So . . . screw Warren.) And she doesn’t want to TJ to look at her the way some of her previous boyfriends have.

Not that she’s thinking of TJ as boyfriend material, obviously. He’s too prim and proper, too squeaky clean, too goody-two-shoes for her taste. Not her usual type at all.

Not that she’s thinking of TJ in terms of types of guys she dates.

She needs to end this train of thought. “World’s best hot chocolate,” she reads from a shop window across the street, grasping onto the first thing that catches her eye. “Pretty cocky.”

“They mean it, though,” TJ insists. “Or at least it’s the best in town.” She continues to look skeptical, and he grins. “Come on, I’ll buy you a cup.”

She smiles back and steps out into the street, and even though she’s learned over the last day and a half that he’s a compulsive rule follower, she’s still startled when he exclaims, “Cross at the crosswalk!”

She comes to a stop and stares back at him incredulously. He looks a little embarrassed, but he stays firm. “Jaywalking is an infraction.”

And now a smile is starting to pull at the corners of her mouth. “You going to arrest me, Caruso?” she challenges, still standing in the street.

He stares back.

“The nearest crosswalk is a block and a half away,” she points out. “You going to walk all that way?”

He glances down at the intersection a block and a half away, and she can see his resolve waver for a moment.

“Besides,” she says, “it’s not an infraction.”

He looks back at her, surprise splashed across his face.

“The law just says, if you’re crossing and there’s not a crosswalk, you need to yield right-of-way to vehicles. So,” she gestures at the empty street behind her, “if there are no vehicles to have right-of-way, we can just cross.”

“I’m not sure that’s the correct interpretation of that law,” says TJ doubtfully, but Cora simply takes another step out into the street.

“Come on, Caruso,” she says. “Live dangerously. Accept creative interpretations of pedestrian laws.” She holds out a beckoning hand. “Don’t you want to get across the street quickly and into a warm shop for some delicious hot chocolate?”

TJ looks at her a long time, then hesitantly steps out into the street. She quickly grabs his hand and pulls him across the street with her.

“There, that wasn’t so bad, right?” she laughs when they get to the other side.

TJ laughs too, in that way he sometimes has, where he won’t quite make eye contact with her; he’s not exactly shy—he’s a cop, it’d be hard to do a good job of it if he were shy—but she gets the sense that he’s a bit uncomfortable in his own skin. It’s strangely endearing, when so many of the cops she knows (so many of the men she knows, really) are so absurdly cocky. And she finds herself squeezing his hand.

Which is the moment that she realizes that she’s still holding his hand, and she blushes and drops it quickly. “Well,” she says loudly, “hot chocolate?”

TJ smiles and leads the way into the shop.

. . . . . .

“It’s tradition,” says Connie with a warm smile.

“We’re big on tradition here,” laughs TJ.

Cora is not convinced. “But it’s . . . a kid’s cartoon? About Christmas?”

“It’s the best kid’s cartoon about Christmas,” Connie confirms solemnly. “Plus, it’s a good length of time to let the sugar cookies cool.”

Cora is still not convinced, but the Carusos have been awfully kind to host her the last two nights, and to invite her to stay over Christmas, and she supposes she shouldn’t be an ungrateful guest. “All right, Charlie Brown it is.”

So she settles into the Carusos' astonishingly comfy couch, with TJ on one side of her and Connie on the other. Connie has turned the lights off so the living room is lit only by the lights on the tree, and when everyone is settled, TJ grabs the remote and hits play.

And it’s cute, at first; Cora remembers reading Peanuts comics as a kid, and it’s fun to see the whole gang ice skating and writing letters to Santa. And she chuckles along with the Carusos when they start planning the Christmas play and everyone would rather dance than listen to Charlie Brown. She personally really identifies with Lucy, who claims that Christmas is a racket, run by some big eastern syndicate.

And then Charlie Brown buys the most pitiful Christmas tree, claiming it needs him, and the other kids make fun of him, and he wonders what Christmas is all about, and Linus comes out on the stage and gives a movingly sincere recital of Luke 2. And Cora is suddenly very quiet. Charlie Brown decorates his pitiful little tree, and when it looks terrible, the other kids come to help. “Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown!” they yell, and sing together as the credits roll.

And Cora sits and stares. She is flooded with memories of Christmas as a child, when her stepfather, briefly sober, would take her to midnight mass. She remembers the year he gave her ten bucks to go buy a Christmas tree, and all she could afford—and transport home herself—had been a pitiful little tree not unlike Charlie Brown’s, and she hadn’t been able to afford decorations, but it was still the most beautiful Christmas she’s ever had.

And a tear slips down her cheek.

Connie says nothing but slips an arm comfortably around Cora’s shoulders. TJ awkwardly pats her knee, and Cora is as surprised as anyone to find herself reaching out to grab his hand; he looks very surprised, but squeezes her hand comfortingly. And they sit there silently in the light from the Christmas tree until long after the credits have ended.

“Cookies should be ready,” Connie says finally, and squeezes Cora’s shoulders one more time for good measure, and gets off the couch; TJ squeezes her hand and follows his mother. Cora takes a moment to compose herself, then joins them in the kitchen.

Neither Caruso says anything about what happened on the couch as they pull out the cookie decorating supplies. TJ turns on Bing Crosby’s _White Christmas_ album—“Bing’s classic, and Christmas is the only time of year people don’t complain if I turn his music on”—and Connie hands Cora a frosting bag, and the snow is falling outside the window, and it’s so perfect that Cora almost wants to cry again.

But she doesn’t cry. She decides that she’s been given the chance to have the Christmas she always wanted as a child, and she’s not going to waste any more of it by being a cynic or focusing on her past.

When the cookies are all covered with frosting and sprinkles—Connie’s are beautiful, TJ’s are passable, Cora’s look terrible—they put them on plates and take them to neighbors. One old woman who seems to live alone invites them inside for cider, beaming from ear to ear at being remembered at Christmas time. She’s got Bing Crosby playing in her living room too, and Cora grins at TJ. “So you’ve got the musical tastes of an 80-year-old,” she says under her breath.

“Everyone likes Bing at Christmas,” he says with mock dignity, but he smiles too.

After a beautiful and perfect and emotional night, Cora goes to the kitchen for a drink before she goes to bed. Connie is already there, reading a letter that is putting a crease between her brows. Cora wonders if she should ask if the woman’s all right, but before she can, Connie sees her and her face lights up in a grin. “Here for a snack?” she asks.

“Just a drink,” says Cora, and goes to the cupboard, and marvels at how quickly she’s become accustomed to the Carusos’ home.

She drinks her water quickly, and is just putting her cup in the dishwasher when Connie speaks again. “If you ever want to talk about it,” she says quietly, “whatever ‘it’ is, I’m here.”

Cora hesitates, but there’s something about Connie—something maternal and loving and safe and comforting. She wonders absently if her own mother, long dead, was anything like TJ’s. And she admits, her gaze fixed on Connie’s shoulder, “This has already been the best Christmas I’ve ever had.” She hesitates. “The only good Christmas I’ve ever had.”

Connie puts her letter down and crosses the room, arms open. She waits until Cora nods, and then she wraps her up in such a warm embrace that Cora almost cries again.

“Thank you,” she whispers. “For all of this.”

And then she goes to bed before she does something even more embarrassing. She hopes her fellow cops back home never hear about what a sap she became in Campobello.

. . . . . .

“This town is unreal.”

Beside Cora, TJ laughs a little. “Why do I get the feeling that’s not a compliment?”

Cora smiles too, and, for reasons she doesn’t let herself look at too closely, rushes to assure her companion that she wasn’t insulting his town. “I mean, I can see the appeal of the whole small town life. But this is about as different from New York City as you can get. Hard to believe we’re only four hours away.”

“Campobello is sort of its own little world,” TJ agrees.

“Like a Hallmark card, or a . . . who’s that painter who just does pretty little houses?” She looks around at the Christmas fair around her, which sprang up overnight on Main Street; yesterday there was nothing here but comically perfect small-town shops and businesses, and today it’s all hot chocolate stands and booths selling handmade Christmas presents. Somewhere a brass band is playing Christmas carols, and to her left kids are lining up to get their pictures taken with Santa, and over their heads strings of lights glow warmly against the dark night. “Or like something from a movie.”

“It’s kind of great, right?” TJ asks, and leads the way to a booth advertising æbleskivers.

“What is an . . . ab-bull-skee . . .”

“Æbleskiver,” laughs TJ. “They’re Danish. The Frederiksens make them every year. I guess it’s something they used to eat back in Denmark.”

He gallantly buys her a little plate of them, covered in Nutella and powdered sugar (“You think I haven’t noticed that you put Nutella on your toast every morning?”), and she insists they share, and they walk through the fair together, sharing æbleskivers and chatting. They wave at Connie, who’s helping with the Santa photo area. Cora recognizes a number of the people they pass from their investigation and from the city offices, and the ones she doesn’t know, TJ tells her about.

“Do you know every single person in this town?” she demands.

“Not all,” he chuckles. “But there’s only nine hundred people in Campobello. It’s not hard to know all the adults, at least a little.”

“There’s probably nine hundred people just on my block back home,” Cora chuckles. “But . . .” She looks around at the happy faces, the friendly conversations. “This is kind of nice. People knowing each other, being friendly, having street fairs. I can see why a person would like small town life.”

“I love it,” TJ confirms with a smile on his lips.

“So, you don’t see yourself ever trying out big city life?”

And now her companion hesitates. “Actually, I grew up in Brooklyn.”

Cora blinks in surprise. “Wait, seriously?” He nods. “You never said anything.”

“You never asked,” he shrugs, then hesitates. “I’ve tried to . . . put that part of my life behind me.”

Okay, so now she’s insanely curious, but would it be rude to ask after a statement like that? So she tries for a more neutral, “So what made you decide move out here?”

TJ looks sidelong at her a long moment. “You still haven’t recognized my last name?”

She did recognize his last name, come to think of it; back in Delghetty’s office, the slip of paper that read “Detective TJ Caruso” had itched at the back of her brain for a moment. But she couldn’t figure out why then, and she can’t figure it out now. So she shrugs. “It did sound familiar, but . . .”

TJ sighs. “Well, now I suppose you’ll just Google it later.”

“I really will,” she agrees solemnly.

So he leads her to a bench by the giant tree on the lawn of the city offices building, the one that’s been covered in champagne-colored Christmas lights, the one that she admires every time she sees it lit up. They sit down side by side, legs brushing, and TJ looks down, his brows drawn together in thought. Then he admits, not looking at her, “My dad is Tony Caruso. Of the Caruso Commission.”

The Caruso Commission . . . the memory comes rushing to her, and she can’t help gasping a little. “That case with all the dirty cops? Back, what, seven, eight years ago?”

TJ nods, his mouth pulled into a tight, unhappy smile. “And my dad was the dirtiest of them all.”

And this Cora can barely believe. TJ Caruso, who won’t cross an empty street because jaywalking is an infraction, is the son of the most corrupt cop in NYPD history? She stares at him until he glances over at her, then quickly glances away.

“I didn’t know, when I was a kid. Neither did Mom. Although we both started to suspect, when I was . . . maybe high school age?” He sighs. “It all came out just after I started the police academy. And it was awful—the way the trainers and the recruits reacted when they heard my name. I just couldn’t bear it after a while.”

“So you came here,” she guesses quietly.

He nods. “One of my dad’s old captains had stayed in touch with me and my mom; I think he felt guilty that he never noticed what Dad was up to. Anyway, he offered to help me get a job out of the city, where maybe people wouldn’t know my name. Captain Harkey is his brother-in-law, and together they pulled some strings and got me into the Hamilton County police academy. I’ve been up here ever since.”

Cora nods. “And your mom?”

“She stayed in Brooklyn until the trial was over. Once my dad was put away, I convinced her to move up here with me—away from all the gossip, and the neighbors staring . . .”

“You’re a good son,” she says quietly.

“Mom deserves it,” he says, equally quietly. “She deserves a happy, peaceful life.” He hesitates. “Dad . . . Dad loves Mom; that’s impossible to deny if you ever see them together. But he’s always done whatever he wants. And when he got drunk, that included . . . other women.”

Cora has never met Tony Caruso, Sr., but she’d like to sock the guy in the jaw for daring to cheat on someone as wonderful as Connie.

“She knew?”

TJ nods, looking miserable for a moment.

“And she . . . doesn’t mind?”

“She minds,” he corrects her. “And she minds about the dirty cop business. But she also loves him. She always just tells me, ‘It’s complicated.’” He sighs. “She drives into the city once a month to see him in prison. And they write letters.”

Cora thinks of the letter she came across Connie reading after the sugar cookies. “How much longer does he have?”

Another sigh. “He’s hoping to be let out on probation this fall. Maybe September.”

“And then?” she prompts gently.

He grimaces. “He’ll probably have to come here.”

“And you’re not sure you want that.”

“I made a life for myself up here,” he says firmly. “A Tony-free life, where no one looks at me sideways, wondering if I’m about to beat up a suspect or something.”

All of TJ’s obsessive rule following, the incredible precision with which he lives his life, is starting to make sense . . . and starting to take on a rather tragic tone. He’s probably spent his entire adult life trying to be as little like his father as possible: to prove to himself and others that he’s not a dirty cop too. And without thinking, she reaches over and puts a gloved hand comfortingly on his knee. TJ hesitates, and then he covers her hand with his own. They’re both wearing the thickest gloves possible, but still, the gesture is . . . nice. And that’s as far as she wants to examine what’s going on in her heart just now.

And then she tells him about her childhood: about losing her mother so early that she has no memories of her, about being raised by a stepfather who made no attempt to hide how much he resented being forced to raise another man’s child and who drank himself to death when she was seventeen. She thinks about telling him about Warren, but she can’t bring herself to do it; she doesn’t want TJ to look at her scornfully, as surely he would do if he found out she rushed into an engagement with a man she’d only been dating for a few weeks.

So instead, “I always tell people I don’t like Christmas,” she admits quietly, “because disliking it is easier than . . .” TJ has turned his full attention on her, his handsome brown eyes full of sympathy and warmth, and she can’t decide if she wants to turn away or to lose herself in those eyes. She compromises by fixing her gaze on the knot of his scarf instead. “Honestly, just decorating sugar cookies with your mom is the closest I’ve ever come to a real Christmas.”

What is it about TJ that makes it so easy for her to be vulnerable and honest? She’s _never_ vulnerable and honest.

TJ looks away again, back at the tree in front of them, but he turns his hand over so they can interlace their fingers. “Well, now you definitely have to stay with us through Christmas day. Or as long as you like, really.”

And Cora ducks her head and smiles.

. . . . . .

Cora is enjoying her Nutella toast on Christmas Eve morning when TJ dashes into the kitchen, pulling his gloves on. “Grab your coat!” he exclaims. “Just heard from Judy. Bob Parker came back early. If he can tell us about the remodel project—”

“Maybe we can nail Morningside!” Cora realizes, shoving her toast in her mouth and rising from her chair.

TJ stoops to kiss his mother’s cheek as he flies past her, and Cora does the same, only realizing when she sees TJ's amused look what she’s done. And she blushes. “Sorry, Connie—”

“Not at all, dear. Now go solve the crime!”

That’s easier said than done. Bob Parker does give them the information they need to prove that Morningside used the remodeling project to cover up his robbery of the jewelry store, but it takes a while to establish the chain of evidence, and then Cora has to spend the afternoon filling out paperwork and case reports and submitting it all to the NYPD and talking to Delghetty on the phone.

“Good work, detective.” Delghetty sounds pleased. “Now we have motive for Morningside to have quarrelled with his brother, and we can nail him on the murder charge.”

“Thanks,” grins Cora, then hesitates. “So . . . I guess I’d better come back so I can get back to work.”

Across the desk, TJ looks up at her, then looks determinedly back down at his own paperwork.

But Delghetty won’t hear it. “I don’t expect you back until the noon on the 26th; I’m not even putting you on call for Christmas day. You’ve earned the day off, and then department policy is you get a half-day for travel. Enjoy the holiday for once, Vasquez.”

She hangs up, and Cora can’t help it: her gaze goes immediately to TJ. He looks up at her. “So you’re leaving?” he says, sounding very casual.

She hesitates; will the Carusos want her intruding on their Christmas now that there’s not a good reason for her to stay? “I’m not expected back until noon on the 26th. So—”

“So you’ll stay for Christmas,” TJ breaks in, looking so pleased that Cora can’t help grinning, and ducking her head to hide the blush on her cheeks.

“If you guys don’t mind.”

“We don’t mind,” he says firmly. And then he smiles. “But be warned, you’ll have a lot of Caruso family traditions to put up with.”

She grins. “I’m looking forward to it.”

. . . . . .

“Caruso family traditions” includes an Italian feast that night, with what Connie describes as “all of Grandma Caruso’s recipes.” The way they talk about the woman indicates she’s clearly been deceased for some time, and Cora wonders if the woman lived to see her son shamed and imprisoned.

“These cannolis are heavenly,” she informs Connie.

“Don’t tell me, tell TJ,” she says. “He’s the cannoli genius in this family. He made them while you were out running errands after work.”

Cora looks approvingly at TJ, who blushes.

After that they watch _The Muppet Christmas Carol_ , which Connie explains is her favorite Christmas movie: “I love the Muppets. And there’s something very comforting in the idea that it’s never too late to change your life.” And then it’s midnight mass at the tiny Catholic church in the next village over; Cora hasn’t been to one since her stepfather died, and she’s surprised at how much of the service she remembers, and how much it moves her.

Christmas morning they open gifts; even though Cora was a last-minute addition to their festivities, TJ and Connie both bought presents for her, and she went out last night to buy presents for them. TJ’s gift to her is a hand-knitted scarf she’d admired at the Christmas fair, and she doesn’t know what warms her more: the thick, soft scarf, or the fact that he noticed and remembered her gazing at it. In all the time she was with Warren, she’s not sure he ever did anything as thoughtful as that. Prim and proper and old-fashioned might not be her usual type, but she’s starting to think that she maybe she was too quick to write that type off, if it’s accompanied by such thoughtfulness and sweetness.

Connie has made an elaborate brunch—Cora’s coming to understand that Caruso family traditions mostly revolve around food—and then they build a snowman in the yard and watch _White Christmas_ while doing Christmas jigsaw puzzles.

At four they repair to the kitchen to prep for the biggest food-related Caruso Christmas tradition of all: they make a massive dinner, because Connie has invited over no less than sixteen neighbors and friends who have little or no family to spend Christmas with. There’s sweet Mrs. Johnson and old Mr. Cunningham from down the street, both of whom Cora met on their cookie outing; there’s Captain Harkey and his wife; there’s three of the police officers from the department; and nine others Cora hasn’t met yet.

Suddenly Cora understands why the Carusos have such a massive dining table.

Everyone she meets welcomes her with open arms, and she looks around and thinks, not for the first time, that she’s starting to see the appeal of small town life. The food is delicious. Christmas carols are playing softly. And every now and then she catches TJ watching her; he always immediately blushes and looks away, but there’s a warmth in her rib cage and on her cheeks that grows every time it happens.

And then the doorbell rings, and TJ goes to answer it and returns with the very last person Cora wants to see right now.

“Warren?”

Yes, it’s Warren who is suddenly inexplicably standing by the doorway, looking as irritatingly handsome as ever, and Cora’s heart does a complicated set of flips: she’s furious to see him, furious that he’s somehow barged into her perfect Christmas, but there’s a tiny part of her, the part that gets sad when she passes wedding dress stores, that perks up when he walks in the room.

“Hey baby,” he says with that perfect smile and that drawl she used to love so much. “I just had to see you. I miss you so much.”

And all Cora can think is, _Not in front of TJ!_

That thought shakes her out of her stupor, and she stands from her chair—trying not to stare at TJ, who looks surprised and a little hurt—to grab Warren’s arm and march him into the corner. (The disadvantage of the Carusos’ open floor plan is that there’s nowhere to hide; everyone sitting at the table will be able to see this confrontation. But the alternative is going outside, where it’s freezing.)

“How did you find me?” she hisses as TJ returns to the table.

He lifts his iPhone. “Find My Friends?”

Cora winces. She hadn’t realized she still—

She is uninstalling that app as soon as they’re done here.

“Why are you here?” she demands.

“Because me and you, we’re meant to be,” he says in that tone she always used to just melt for. “And I missed you so much, I couldn’t take it. This was supposed to be our first Christmas together, and I couldn’t stand not spending it with you.” His expression softens. “I still wanna marry you, baby.”

Cora examines him a long moment, and then she laughs. “Wait, let me guess: Evelyn dumped you.”

Something dark flashes across his face, and she knows she’s right.

“Evelyn dumped you,” she repeats, “so you were hoping that if you pulled this ‘our first Christmas together’ crap, I’d come back to you.”

Warren’s mouth tightens into a hard, flat line.

“If you really think we’re meant to be,” she says, “maybe you shouldn’t have cheated. Have a nice drive back to the city.”

“Baby—”

“Get out.”

“But baby—”

“She told you to get out,” comes a voice behind Cora, and she immediately relaxes. TJ has that effect on her.

Warren frowns. “Stay out of this, little man. You can’t make me leave.”

“Actually I can,” says TJ. “I own this house. You’ve been told to leave, and therefore by staying here you’re trespassing.”

“What are you gonna do, arrest me?” he chuckles.

“I could, if you like,” says TJ. “My badge and my cuffs are upstairs, but the three officers at the table are on call, which means they’ve got their cuffs on them. And their guns.”

The three officers at the table wave at Warren.

“And if you’re not clear on your legal standing here, I’m sure _Captain_ Harkey could clarify things for you.”

Captain Harkey waves his badge at Warren, who scowls.

“How many cops are at this party?” he demands.

Cora quickly counts. “Six,” she announces with a smile. “Warren, it’s over between us. It’s been over for a long time. Please go home.”

Warren scowls, but in the moment before he turns to leave, she sees genuine sadness in his eyes. He meant it, she thinks, when he said he missed her.

Too bad she no longer has any interest in that cheating, lying sack of crap. She feels a great deal of satisfaction in hearing the door close behind him.

Officer Malek has to head off for his graveyard shift at the station, so as he heads to his car, he promises to follow Warren at a discreet distance to make sure he leaves town. And Cora turns back toward the dining table, only to find Mrs. Johnson approaching slowly, cane in hand, to throw her arms around her.

“You did good, my girl,” the old lady says, and Cora laughs because the alternative is to cry at this unexpected show of affection. Connie hugs her too, and everyone at the table chimes in with some form of “Good riddance, you’re better off without him,” and Cora is equal parts embarrassed and pleased as she sits back down at the table.

Across from her, TJ watches her with warm eyes, and she makes herself meet his gaze, and finds herself smiling. He smiles back. And she feels it in her very bones.

After dinner there’s cannolis for dessert—made by TJ, of course—and wassail, and they gather around the piano in the corner to sing carols. TJ turns out to be an excellent piano player, and a tolerable singer, though Connie is better. Captain Harkey is the best of all, with the voice of an angel, and several of the other guests sing harmony while the less-talented members of the group, Cora included, just try not to mess things up too badly.

Soon it’s late enough that people start heading home, and Cora volunteers to walk Mrs. Johnson to her door and make sure she gets there safely on the snowy sidewalk. “You’re a good girl,” the old woman smiles, and steps outside to wait.

TJ dashes to the coat rack to get Cora her coat, and he’s handing it to her when Mrs. Harkey exclaims, “Look, you two, you’re standing under the mistletoe!”

Cora and TJ both look up to see there is indeed a sprig of mistletoe hanging over the doorway—a sprig that wasn’t there when Warren showed up.

“Where did that come from?” TJ demands, but it’s clear from Mr. Cunningham’s pleased face who put it up. Plus the guy’s like seven feet tall, which explains how he put it up without needing a stepladder.

“I just love mistletoe,” he beams.

“Come on, it’s tradition!” Mrs. Johnson calls from outside.

“It is tradition,” Connie agrees solemnly, a twinkle in her eye. “You know how I feel about tradition."

Literally everyone is watching, so Cora supposes they might as well get it over with.

Well, “get it over with” makes it sound like it’s something she doesn’t want to do, which isn’t exactly the case. Because she just . . . she doesn’t want to hurt Mr. Cunningham’s feelings.

Plus it’s been a while since she’s been kissed, and even a mistletoe kiss is better than nothing.

Plus she’s not exactly unhappy at who she’s been caught under the mistletoe with.

So she shrugs, saying “It _is_ tradition,” and turns to TJ with her face lifted up to his. He looks surprised a moment, and then starts to bend down. She doesn’t really know if he intends to go for her cheek or her lips, and apparently neither does he because it ends up being at the corner of her mouth.

It’s quick. It’s chaste.

And Cora is glad that she has an excuse to immediately duck outside into the darkness, so no one can see the high color in her cheeks.

“Well,” says Mrs. Johnson with mischief in her tone as they start the short journey to her home, “that was a nice ending to the evening.”

Cora fights back a smile. “It was.”

. . . . . .

Sleep eludes Cora that night. And she rather suspects she knows why: she’s leaving first thing in the morning, so the sooner she goes to sleep, the sooner she’s back to her tiny, overcrowded apartment, back to the grind of the NYPD and spending every day knee deep in the worst that humanity has to offer, back to her bland and lonely life. No more Christmas carols, no more sugar cookies, no more family dinners. No more Connie.

No more TJ.

At two she gives up on the hope of sleeping any time soon, and she slips into the living room and plugs the Christmas tree lights back in. When TJ comes out to the living room ten minutes later, he finds her sitting cross-legged on the carpet, staring at the tree with its lights reflecting in her eyes.

“Can’t sleep?” he guesses, startling her.

“Guess not,” she says with a smile. “Did I wake you?”

“Nah, I woke up on my own, and saw the light from the tree coming in under my door. I thought maybe we’d forgotten to turn it off.”

She shakes her head as TJ walks into the living room and settles down on the carpet next to her. “I just . . . wasn’t ready for Christmas to end,” she admits.

“Quite a statement, coming from someone who once said she ‘wasn’t into Christmas much.’”

She smiles, sad and vague. “Never had a good one before, I guess.”

TJ nods. “I never did get a chance to tell you,” he says, “Malek says he followed Warren all the way out of town. He definitely left.”

Cora sighs. “Good.”

There’s a long pause. “Old fiance?”

She nods. “You know what’s funny? I was hoping to have some family to invite to our wedding. So I hire this genealogist, Evelyn. I go over to Warren’s a week later and find them making out on the couch. So instead of making my wedding more special, she ruined it.”

“I’m so sorry,” TJ says quietly. “How come you never said anything?”

“I was embarrassed,” Cora admits.

“Because you trusted him?”

She hesitates, but TJ does make it strangely easy to be vulnerable around him. So she screws up her face in a grimace. “Because . . . that was my third engagement that ended when the guy cheated on me?”

That does surprise TJ, she can tell. “Three engagements?”

She nods.

“And they all cheated?”

She nods again.

“Wow, you have . . . bad luck,” he finishes, at the same time that she says, “Terrible judgment.”

He chuckles at her words. “It does seem like you keep going for the wrong guys.”

“I know,” she sighs. “Sometimes I’m not even sure why I keep bothering with the whole marriage idea.”

TJ’s silent a moment, then says softly, “I know why.”

She turns to look at him, surprised, but he’s still staring at the Christmas tree, its lights a thousand flecks of glitter on his eyeglasses. “You’re looking for family.”

He’s right. He’s so right, and she wonders how this guy she’s only known for five days understands her so completely. “Yeah,” she agrees quietly, then adds, “So I don’t think I could ever thank you guys enough for this week. This has been the best Christmas of my life.” She hesitates. “This has been the best few days of my life.”

“We’ve loved having you here,” he assures her, and takes off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose for a moment.

She stares. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without your glasses before,” she observes.

He cracks a grin. “And I’ve never seen you without my glasses. I’m blind as a bat without them.”

And somehow that’s when it strikes her how intimate this moment is: in the low light of the tree, both in their pajamas—he’s wearing the old-fashioned kind, with the button-up collared top, and somehow it suits Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes here perfectly—and TJ with his hair sleep-tousled and and his glasses off.

No moment has ever felt so right.

So she admits, “I can’t sleep because once I wake up . . . this is over. Being here, I mean. And I’m not ready for that yet.”

“Really?” TJ turns to look at her, putting his glasses back on as he does, but this time it’s her turn to stare determinedly at the Christmas tree.

So he turns away after a moment. They sit in silence, and then he admits, “I wish you weren’t leaving.”

And Cora’s heart beats faster in her rib cage. She needs to—she needs to—

She hardly knows. Because she knows what she wants, but she doesn’t know how to get there: she wants not to move from this spot ever again. Or at least, she wants to stay in Campobello. She wants to go to street fairs and visit with old Mrs. Johnson and buy the best hot chocolate in town. She wants hugs and cookie decorating and family dinners with Connie. She wants to solve crimes with TJ and Captain Harkey. She wants to hold TJ’s hand whenever she likes.

She wants to kiss TJ right now, properly this time, by the light of the Christmas tree; she wants to feel his hands in her hair and on her face, and see the shy, pleased look on his face when it ends. She wants—she wants—

TJ speaks then, his gaze fixed on the Christmas tree; maybe he’s grown uncomfortable with the silence, and wants to fill it. “Well, you’re always welcome to come visit.”

Cora stares at him, feeling like a bucket of cold water has been thrown in her face. “. . . thank you,” she manages after a moment. And now disappointment is sitting on her sternum like a lead weight, and she scrambles to her feet. “I’d better get to bed,” she says. “Long drive tomorrow.”

And she hurries away before she does something embarrassing, like cry.

. . . . . .

“I hate New Years,” says Burl, looking across the room at Officer Chen, who’s sporting a black eye from a drunk and disorderly last night who got belligerent and punched him in the face.

Normally Cora would say something like “Well, better dealing with drunk partiers than murderers, right?” But the fact is that right now, she hates New Years too. Hates everything, come to think of it. So instead she teases gently, “How many days until your retirement?”

“797,” he says promptly, and sighs.

Cora agrees with the sentiment behind that sigh. And she doesn’t even have the comfort of imagining retirement in a mere 797 days. Ever since she came back to NYC, things have been . . . flat. Dull. Empty. She’s thought about calling or texting TJ, just to talk, but she can’t forget that conversation by the Christmas tree, when she confessed how unhappy she was to leave and TJ’s response was . . . well, it wasn’t unkind, but it was the sort of impersonal thing you’d say to an old friend from college, or a distant relative; it wasn’t at all in keeping with the close relationship she thought they’d cultivated. And now she’s wondering if she read the whole situation wrong. Maybe she was never more than a work colleague to him.

She didn’t even get to say goodbye to him; when she woke up on the 26th, Connie informed her that he’d gotten a call early from a farmer in another town—something about aliens. “This happens a lot,” Connie said with a laugh. “But TJ has to go out and reassure him, every time.” She reached into her pocket. “He did leave you a note, though.”

Cora took the note with an eagerness that she’s embarrassed to remember now, but all it said was “Thanks for everything, come see us any time. T.J.” Not much of a note. Though that didn’t stop her from saving it in her wallet.

At least her goodbye with Connie was everything she’d hoped for: a tight hug, and a sandwich for the road, and an insistence that she stay in touch and come to see them soon—at least for the Fourth of July, which Campobello apparently celebrates “in style.” Cora had promised, then spent the whole drive back to New York City feeling that if she was trying to go home, she was heading in the wrong direction.

Anyway, Morningside finally confessed to the murder, so at least the trip accomplished its purpose. And now she’s back to work, back to murders and assaults, back to her tiny little apartment and her gaggle of roommates, back to hoping that her good work will be noticed and eventually she’ll get a raise.

And trying to ignore the fact that she’s worn the scarf TJ gave her every day since Christmas.

“You ever know Tony Caruso?” she finds herself asking Burl at one point, just out of curiosity.

“Tony the Tiger? Sure, everybody did,” says Burl. “We were in the same precinct once, for a few years.”

“Did you know?” Cora asks. “About . . .”

“I suspected he wasn’t on the up and up,” Burl says. “But I had no idea how right I was. He was a great detective, sharp as a tack. And he used all those brains to keep from getting caught.”

Cora nods. “Did you ever know his son?” she asks, casual as she can. She has no idea why she’s bringing this up . . . other than that there’s a strange comfort in talking about TJ.

“Met him a couple times,” says Burl. “Good kid. Nothing like his dad. Wonder where he ended up.”

“Actually,” says Cora, “I met him while I was out on the Morningside case. He lives in upstate New York now.”

“Somewhere nice?” asks Burl.

Cora’s smile is a little wistful. “Yeah, cute town. His mom’s out there with him.”

“Good for him,” says Burl. “You two get along?”

Cora hesitates. “I think so.”

Just before lunch, she gets a call from Gina at the reception desk, informing her that someone is asking for her downstairs. Curious, she heads for the elevator, and when the doors open on the ground floor, she feels her heart start pounding. Because standing there, waiting for her, is TJ Caruso. He looks good, in jeans and a sweater; she knows he likes to wear suits when he’s on the clock, so maybe this isn’t official police business.

“Cora!” he says, his face lighting up, and she feels herself starting to grin. He has that effect on her.

“Hey, TJ. What in the world brings you all the way down here?”

“Wanted to talk to you about something,” he says. He glances over at Gina, who is not even pretending that she’s not eavesdropping on the conversation, then asks Cora, “Can we go somewhere?”

So she leads TJ down a little-used hallway in the station, somewhere she knows Gina can’t eavesdrop. She’s incredibly curious as to why he’s here—as far as she’s aware, he’s not returned to New York City since the day he left for Campobello—but he seems more interested in making small talk at first. “So I hear you got Morningside for that murder.”

So she leans against a window sill and tells him about the case, and he leans against the next window sill and tells her what he’s been up to, and how Connie is doing. It’s very pleasant to hear his voice again, but . . . “Is this really what you drove down here for?”

He hesitates, then shakes his head, his gaze on the ground. “No, no it’s not. It’s just, now that I’m here, my reason for coming seems . . . crazy. I’m not sure why I thought you’d ever say yes—”

He’s almost talking more to himself than her now, but she feels her pulse and her hopes rising. “Just say it,” she says. “I promise I won’t think it’s crazy.”

“Okay.” He takes a deep breath. “It’s . . . Sendak is retiring.”

She blinks. “Sendak? Your partner?”

He looks up at her. “Yeah, his health hasn’t been good lately, and he’s decided to retire a little early. So I’m without a partner all the sudden, and I thought—well, Harkey suggested it, but I’d been thinking it too . . .”

“TJ?”

“Would you consider coming to work in Campobello?” he says all in a rush. “As my partner? Harkey’s ready to approve it immediately; you wouldn’t even have to interview. It’s, it’s not an increase in pay, but cost of living is so much cheaper in Campobello.” She is silent with surprise, and he seems to assume the worst as he pushes away from the window sill and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I know it’s not the big city life you’re used to, it’s just . . . you seemed really happy in Campobello. And you said, there at the end, you weren’t looking forward to leaving . . .” He shakes his head. “Sorry, this was stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” she assures him quickly, standing as well and moving to stand in front of him. “Do . . . do you want me to take the job?”

“I mean, you should do what’s best for you, but . . . yeah, I’d like it if you decided to.”

“Why? Why do you want me there?” And she holds her breath.

“I thought we worked really well together,” he says. “And you brought a perspective I really needed.”

Oh. That’s disappointing. Well, it’s nice he thinks she’s a good cop, but still . . . “Is that all?”

“I—it’s—I mean, yeah.”

Very disappointing. But still, he’s offering her an interesting opportunity, and she needs to give it due consideration. In Campobello, she’d be able to afford a much nicer place—maybe even her own house—on her detective salary. She’d get to go to town festivals, and she’d know her neighbors, and there’d be peace and quiet and safety and charming little shops and all those perks of small town life she’s been imagining. She’d be close to Connie and to the wonderful maternal energy she exudes, and maybe her days of celebrating holidays alone would be over. And she’d get to see TJ every day; it seems like maybe he doesn’t want the same things out of their relationship that she does, but still, his friendship, his partnership, is very worth having. Even if they’re not more.

And her brow furrows. Is she really considering leaving New York City behind to move to a town of 900?

Maybe it’s that TJ sees the furrowing of her brow, and worries. Or maybe it’s that her silence is making him uncomfortable. Whatever the reason, he suddenly blurts, “I lied, that’s not all.”

Cora looks up at him, surprised.

“It’s also that I—I should have already—this is crazy,” he concludes, shaking his head.

“I like crazy,” she says, stepping closer to him.

He stares at her, then reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “I miss you,” he confesses quietly. “I wanted to tell you on Christmas not to leave. That you could stay with us, and we’d find a way not to lose you. I’d find a way not to lose you.”

Her voice is equally quiet. “Why didn’t you tell me that?”

“Because I couldn’t expect you to leave everything behind—your job, your life here, all the glamor of big city life. And for what? At least now this job offer gives you a decent reason to come to Campobello.”

Cora’s heart is beginning to sing. “It does,” she agrees solemnly. “And solves the problem of, how do I pay rent and buy groceries. But TJ—” she steps forward and presses a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth, an echo of that kiss beneath the mistletoe— “You would also have been reason enough to stay.”

TJ stares at her, hope sparkling in his eyes. “Are you—did you just—”

She grins.

And TJ kisses her, properly this time, right there in the police station, and it turns out his hands carding through her hair really is the most delightful thing. Cora pulls him close and smiles against his lips, and now he’s smiling, and then the kiss just sort of dissolves into the pair of them just resting their foreheads together and grinning at each other.

“Wait,” Cora realizes suddenly, “but how can we work together if . . .” And she gestures vaguely with her arms, still looped firmly around TJ’s neck.

TJ understands immediately. “Oh, Harkey doesn’t care about that stuff at all,” he says. “You know the other two detectives? The ones you never met? They’re married. To each other, I mean. So Harkey does not care about coworkers being in a romantic relationship.” And then he hesitates, looking a little embarrassed. “I mean, I don’t mean to assume that we’re—that you and I—”

Cora cuts him off by leaning in for a quick kiss. “TJ,” she says reasonably, “you drove across the state to kiss me and propose that I move closer to you. I certainly hope that you’re suggesting a romantic relationship.”

And TJ laughs that adorable laugh of his where his eyes narrow into happy little crescent moons, and he looks right at her, forgetting for a moment to be uncomfortable in his own skin. “Good,”  he says. “That was the best-case scenario outcome of this little outing. The outcome I thought for sure I’d never get.”

“Apparently it’s your lucky day,” she says, and leans in for another kiss. “And mine.”

. . . . . .

And that’s how it comes to pass that Cora Vasquez quits her job with the NYPD and leaves behind the dirty, crowded city she’s known her whole life for a tiny, quiet town she has learned to love. That’s how she finds herself renting a charming little house not far from the Carusos, and spending all her time with TJ and Connie and eventually Tony, and becoming woven into the fabric of the family’s lives, until the day she officially becomes one of them in the eyes of God and the state of New York. That’s how she becomes a well-known and well-loved citizen of Campobello, and comes to know everyone in town by name. That’s how she changes her life for the better, and never regrets what she left behind.

And that’s how it comes to pass that Cora Vasquez Caruso never spends another Christmas alone.

. . . . . .

fin


End file.
